Page 56 of Silent Past

The door was unlocked. It swung open at her touch, revealing the familiar interior wrapped in morning shadows. Everything looked normal at first—Gabriel's boots by the door, yesterday's coffee cup on the kitchen counter, his reading glasses folded beside the morning paper.

Then she saw it. The chair is lying on its side in the living room. The lamp knocked off the side table, its shade cracked. Most telling of all—the faint scuff marks on the hardwood floor, like someone had been dragged.

"Sheila." Finn's voice was tight with controlled tension. "Over here." He stood by the overturned chair, his flashlight beam illuminating a harsh truth—a smear of blood on the wall. Not enough blood to suggest a fatal wound, but enough to confirm their fears: Gabriel had been taken, and he hadn't gone quietly.

Her world narrowed to that small stain of red, everything else fading to background noise. She forced herself to focus, to think like a sheriff rather than a daughter. "Check the rest of the house," she managed.

They moved through the rooms carefully, but she already knew they wouldn't find him. Gabriel was gone. Only signs of struggle remained—a broken glass in the kitchen, papers scattered across his desk, a picture frame knocked askew. The photo within showed a younger Gabriel teaching a teenage Sheila proper kickboxing stance, both of them grinning at the camera.

"His phone's here," Finn called from the kitchen. "And his wallet. Keys too."

Sheila stood in her father's living room, sunlight streaming through windows that had witnessed violence just hours before. The silence felt oppressive now, heavy with implications she didn't want to face.

"The caller," she said, her voice tight. "The one who wouldn't give his name. This is why Dad wasn't answering his phone." Her hands clenched into fists. "They took him."

"We'll find him." Finn's voice carried quiet certainty as he pulled out his phone to call it in.

But Sheila barely heard him. She was staring at the blood on the wall, at the signs of her father's struggle against unknown attackers. Gabriel Stone was one of the toughest men she knew. It would have taken several people to subdue him.

And somewhere out there, those same people were holding him for reasons she could guess all too well. Her father was missing, taken by people who wanted to stop their investigation into her mother's murder.

And Sheila knew exactly where they were waiting for her.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

"Thanks, Bo," Sheila said. "With any luck, this will all be over soon."

She hung up the phone and let out a deep sigh.

"Everything okay with Star?" Finn asked.

Sheila nodded. "She's as restless as a tiger in a zoo, but he'll keep her safe."

Thus assured about Star's safety, Sheila turned her attention to the abandoned farmhouse before her, which squatted against the morning sky like a wound in the landscape, its weathered boards and broken windows testament to years of neglect. She and Finn were concealed in a copse of scrub oak, the rising sun at their backs painting long shadows across overgrown fields.

"No signs of current activity," Finn said quietly, lowering his binoculars. "But those tire tracks by the side door are fresh. Someone's been here recently."

Sheila studied the building through her own binoculars, cataloging details with desperate intensity. A rusted tractor sat half-hidden behind the house, brown weeds growing through its chassis. The front porch had partially collapsed, forcing anyone entering to use the side door—creating a natural bottleneck. Perfect for an ambush.

"They're smart," she said. "Choosing a place with clear sight lines, only one viable entrance." She shifted position slightly, branches crackling beneath her.

"Which is exactly why we need backup." Finn's voice carried the weight of worry—not just for Gabriel, but for her. "This has trap written all over it, Sheila. That call, the address... they knew you'd come."

"Of course they knew." She lowered the binoculars, her jaw tight. "They took him because of me. Because I wouldn't let Mom's case rest."

"All the more reason not to walk into their trap alone."

"You think I don't know that?" Her voice cracked slightly. "But if we bring in a tactical team, create a perimeter—what happens to Dad? They'll see us coming, Finn. And people willing to kill a sheriff over old secrets won't hesitate to kill their hostage."

Finn was quiet for a moment, watching a crow circle overhead. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle but firm. "They might not even have him here. This could just be where they plan to take you out."

"Maybe." Sheila's hands tightened on the binoculars until her knuckles went white. "But if there's even a chance..."

"Then we need to be smart about this. Your father wouldn't want you walking into an ambush."

"My father wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't pushed so hard to solve Mom's murder." The words tasted bitter, like copper and regret. "He told me to be careful, that these people would do anything to keep their secrets buried. But I couldn't let it go."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "He tried to warn me," she continued. "Said some questions were too dangerous to ask." She met Finn's eyes. "But I kept asking anyway. And now they have him."

---